


Asymptotic

by rhythmickorbit



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aliens, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comic Book Science, Dubiously accurate science, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Femslash February, Kinda, Lesbians in Space, Outer Space, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Science Experiments, Science Lesbians, Slice of Life, Vis Vitalis, but kinda both??, exchange, kinda just enemies to lovers, slugs - Freeform, space slugs, techno-organic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22928452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmickorbit/pseuds/rhythmickorbit
Summary: Proxima is resolute in one thing from her past, and one thing only: she will never, under any circumstances, be amicable toward her assigned lab partner, Javelin. She hates her with a seemingly unmovable passion, with reasons that only she really knows.So far from Caminus, however, leaves room for change, and after a scouting mission gone wrong, Proxima is forced to reconcile with whether old grudges are really worth it - or if it is worth taking a risk for something new blooming between herself and Javelin.(Written for the Transformers Femslash February Exchange, hosted by Bex!)
Relationships: Javelin (Transformers)/Proxima (Transformers), Proxima (Transformers)/Javelin (Transformers)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Asymptotic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [not_whelmed_yet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_whelmed_yet/gifts).



In such a close setting as the _Vis Vitalis_ , it seemed almost inevitable that two kindred sparks would grow closer to one another.

At least, that’s what Thunderclash often espoused— he was endlessly optimistic, and had the track record to show for it. Conflicts on the ship were usually smoothed over by him, and flaring armor was often calmed by but a few genuine words. He encouraged kindness, and showed it to everyone— even those who openly despised him (though those were very few).

Proxima, however, remained unmoved, particularly when it came to Javelin.

Thunders had visited Proxima’s quarters one evening, and requested that she make peace with the other scientist. He did so with those turbofox-wide optics of his, the expression he never consciously knew he was making. Proxima’s mouth twisted as all four of her optics (and her visor) had fixated on that eagerly hopeful expression.

“Nothing you could do,” she had said, “would ever make me like her, Captain.”

Thunderclash had then gone on a tangent about friendship, and how ever-so-important that was when on a quest.

Proxima had tuned him out, but made her nods increasingly more enthused as he went on. Eventually satisfied, Thunderclash had then left her to her pondering. Proxima, in turn, glanced to her notes, finding herself unable to concentrate now that Javelin was on the processor. She had shoved the datapad away with a sigh— and now the notes she borrowed from Nautica remained incomplete and unread, even cycles afterward.

Everything related to Javelin remained that way.

Proxima stood in their shared lab space now, taking notes on a few minerals that the crew had found at their last pit stop. The components of the crystals indicated some sort of resemblance to energon, and Proxima wondered if she couldn’t create some sort of fuel alternative, one that could cut down on their energon intake; Thunderclash needed more fuel than most in order to continue functioning, though Proxima felt certain that he would give up his ration if worse came to worst. She couldn’t let that happen— so here she was. If she could only tweak the formula of the crystals, she could prevent even the possibility of that occurring.

Now she needed to measure the pH of a solution that she created using the mineral.

The only problem was that the measuring apparatus was on Javelin’s side of the lab. And she was using it.

Proxima reset her vocalizer. “Javelin,” she said stiffly. “Could you perhaps hand me that device that you’re using?”

Javelin glanced up from the tank of aquatic techno-organics that she was studying. Her single optic flickered, as if considering Proxima’s question. “Yes,” she said, jotting down some readings and fishing the pH reader out of the tank. Upon plucking it from Javelin’s hand, Proxima felt inner horror at the organic slime covering the machine.

She grit her dentae. “Javelin.”

“Yes?” The piercing red optic flicked back toward Proxima.

“You got… detritus on my pH apparatus.” She filed away the fact that energon was rushing to her faceplates— that could be dealt with later. If anything, she had developed an allergy to Javelin’s… personality. Or lack thereof. “Kindly refrain from using my equipment with your organics in the future.”

“Techno-organic.”

“Pardon?”

“I said techno-organic. Not biological. Not mechanical. Both.” Something like fondness came glowed from Javelin’s gaze as she looked at the tank of tentacled creatures. 

“I don’t care. Whatever they are, keep their slime off of my things.”

“Okay,” Javelin shrugged.

The silence ensuing afterwards was infuriating. Proxima wiped off the measuring tool, but found herself unable to concentrate immediately afterward. Her vents shuddered with frustration. She stared at the nearly-crystallized solution. It wasn’t the right pH. She growled to herself, and tossed the liquid into a waste receptacle. The petri dish that it was in shattered on impact.

As Proxima stormed out of the room, Javelin said nothing— but that red gaze continued to follow her long after she was out of sight.

* * *

“She’s just… so infuriating!” Proxima clenched her fist harder. Something crunched.

“You just broke my energon-flow reader again,” Velocity sighed. “One of them, anyway. Hang on.”

“She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even do anything except look at those fragging… tentacle things all day. They aren’t even interesting! It isn’t real science! She’s wasting every bit of coding in that… pretty intelligent processor of hers!” Proxima threw her arms in the air, smacking them on the wall behind her. It dented from the impact.

“Straighten up. I need you to take some deep breaths,” Velocity said, voice flat.

Proxima complied. “And I don’t know why she never yells back. She never gets angry, never cares about anything important. I cannot believe that I have to share a lab with her. I cannot believe that Firestar would let the Captain do this to me!”

“Mhm,” said Velocity.

“Don’t you agree? Don’t you think this is cruel and unusual punishment? Ugh. I should have stayed on Caminus,” Proxima lamented.

“Mhm.” Velocity jotted something on a notepad.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing the results of your check-up. And a diagnosis.”

“What in the name of Solus for?”

Her optics steady, voice deadpan, Velocity frowned at Proxima. “Excessive anger. Issues socializing. Stuff that Thunderclash already knows about.”

“Why are you even writing it down, then?”

“Because,” said Velocity, “this is the twelfth check-up in which you’ve ranted to me about Javelin.”

* * *

A knock at the door. Proxima, processor still throbbing from yesterday’s anger, whipped around toward it. The room was dark, excepting the ultraviolet lights that she put up to help the photographs develop.

She had been experimenting with different metals for ages, seeing which one would best reflect those ethereal visions of Caminus that she had taken shortly before leaving. Also hanging up was a less volatile version of her work— a picture of Chromia, Windblade, and Nautica grinning at the viewer. It was going to be a gift for the next time Proxima saw them.

“Don’t come in,” Proxima warned, pulling a metal wall over in order to divide the living part of her hab and the darkroom section. She did not, under any circumstances, want her work to be ruined because of someone’s carelessness. She opened the door a crack, and was met with a singular, red optic that seemed to pierce her very spark.

“Open the door fully,” said Javelin.

Proxima considered shutting it in her face out of spite, but shoved the impulse aside for civility’s sake. Rather than let her in, Proxima simply stepped into the hallway.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Javelin, wordlessly, handed a crystalline blossom in a pot to her. The petals twitched every so often, and a dark blue substance oozed from its middle. “An apology,” said Javelin.

Proxima held the bloom in her hands and stared at it incredulously. “What in the pit is this?”

“Sairilia blossom. Native to the biomechanical planet of Hibrues.” Javelin rolled her vocalizer when pronouncing the alien words. Something in Proxima warmed at the sound— irritation, most likely. 

“And what am I going to do with a ‘sairilia blossom’?” She tried to replicate her accent and failed.

“You can extract ink from it.” Javelin pulled a small bottle out of her subspace and put it into Proxima’s other hand. “Metal-based. Good for printing.”

Proxima stared at the bottle, and then at the plant. Something within her wanted to smash the plant on the floor, and tell Javelin where exactly she could put her so-called ‘gifts’. But, at the same time, this ink looked dark in its bottle, the perfect, opaque medium for those photographs of Caminus. Her mouth twisted, and she bit her lip.

“I will… consider using it,” Proxima said, turning her gaze back toward Javelin. That optic jerked back up to meet Proxima’s gaze, and she wondered briefly what Javelin had been looking at. It didn’t matter— Proxima didn’t care. She didn’t care. “Your apology is accepted.”

“Excellent.” Javelin nodded curtly. “I will leave you now.”

Proxima watched her go, and re-entered her quarters. She put the plant on her berthside table, and stared at it for awhile. The ultraviolet lights from the adjacent darkroom made it glitter like a galaxy. Something in her spark twisted at the sight.

* * *

“And then she just… gave me a gift? Who even dooooes that to someone that hates them? Because I think I’ve made it clear enough. And it’s something…thought… thoughtf… nice? I didn’t think she was capable of being civil!” Proxima’s processor was on the edge of fuzzy, and words were made easier (though admittedly slurred) with the smooth engex coating her tongue. She sat on the floor, leaning against Firestar’s berth— routinely, she and Firestar (and sometimes Velocity, when she wasn't on-duty) would get together in the SIC’s habsuite to drink and chat about old times— although, lately, it had turned into a succession of ranting sessions; specifically about Javelin. She tried to lean forward, but ended up losing her balance and falling on the floor. She grabbed for the half-empty bottle next to Firestar,

Firestar huffed, tugging the engex away from Proxima’s greedy hands. “You’ve clearly had enough.”

“Firestar,” Proxima whined, a sound that would make her quail in shame if she weren’t utterly and completely wasted by now. “The emotional pain must be dulled. By booze. Firestar, help meeeeee…”

“I’m not having the head science officer nurse a hangover tomorrow of all days,” Firestar snapped, her head-flame changing to pink in frustration. “Not to mention the slag you do when you’re overcharged. I’m not smoothing over another spat with Acceleron today.”

“I’d never hurt Acceleron. Acceleron, Acceleron, Acceleron,” Proxima chanted, the sound pleasant as it rolled off of her vocalizer. “Why’d she everrrr break up with me? She’s so pretty and nice.”

“Proxima,” Firestar sighed heavily, rubbing her nasal ridge. “Proxima, I’m going to help you to your quarters, okay? You and Acceleron broke up seventeen decacycles ago. You’re over it. She’s dating Rayburst now. You’re… dating science. I guess.”

“I looooove science.”

“Okay, c’mon.” Firestar pulled Proxima off the ground, proceeding to lean her against her shoulder. “You’re stopping for the night. And activating your FIM chip.”

* * *

Despite the pallor that Thunderclash’s frame had taken over the past few cycles, his optics remained optimistic and bright with his characteristic enthusiasm. Their destination, the first of many midpoints that had been so difficult to locate, was finally on the radar.

“There,” he declared, pointing at the display. Proxima squinted at it— if her optics didn’t deceive her, the so-called “waystation” was located right in the middle of an asteroid field. Before she could say anything, Firestar spoke up.

“Sir,” she said. “With all due respect, I have some… doubts about our ability to get through… that.” Firestar waved a hand at the screen, flame flickering above her with apprehension. “And with your current health, we can’t risk the Vis Vitalis being—”

“The whole of Cybertron is at stake!” Thunderclash set his jaw determinedly. “If my life must be sacrificed in the process, then so be it. If my purpose is to die on this noble quest of ours, then let it be so.”

“And further,” Javelin said quietly. Proxima hadn’t even noticed her until she spoke, and started along with everyone else on the bridge. “Firestar would be a horrendous successor to the captaincy.”

Proxima had never seen Thunderclash’s optics go so round with surprise and horror. Firestar’s chin jutted upward indignantly. 

She couldn’t help but smirk to herself. She immediately suppressed it when she noticed Javelin’s optic on her, wide and giving no indications of intention. She didn’t think that Javelin was funny; of course not. No, it was simply a funny statement. It was amusing, to see Firestar taken down from her inner pedestal for a second. She always got back on it quickly enough.

Firestar puffed out her chest. “In that case,” she said, just as commanding as ever. “We need to keep the ship safe, Captain. Sending out a few shuttles would be most prudent.”

Thunderclash stared at the display for a moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

“I can make my way down to the waystation,” Proxima piped up. A plan formulated in her mind involving her being a decacycle away from Javelin, and a chance to regain her favor with high command. Perhaps they would even stop bothering her about her attitude if she proved herself as useful as she knew she was. “In the meantime, I would be able to test the soil chemistry there, and see if there are any energon deposits.”

Thunderclash and Firestar exchanged a look. “It’ll be a dangerous mission,” the captain began, his tone making Proxima’s tanks drop with dread. “I can’t in good conscience allow you to make the journey alone. We only have rumor and legend to go by for navigation.”

“Not to mention,” Firestar added, “you are utterly terrible at piloting.”

“Let me do this,” Proxima insisted, fingers curling into her palms. 

Thunderclash, after another long moment, nodded slowly. Hope began to glow in the depths of Proxima’s spark, but was immediately crushed by the captain’s next words. “I’ll let you do this,” he said finally, “but you must take Javelin with you.”

* * *

“You’re sulking.” A not-quite-accusatory voice pierced the silence of the shuttle, and Proxima’s grip on the armrests of her chair only tightened. She turned her angry gaze toward Javelin, hoping every bit of hatred within her was visible in her optics.

“I’m not sulking. I’m righteously indignant.”

“About?” Javelin’s gaze turned back toward the screen, which displayed the asteroids outside. She maneuvered around them with an ease that made Proxima’s armor tighten around her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she snapped in reply.

The silence that Javelin seemed to adore so much loomed over their helms. Inexplicable anxiety wormed its way through Proxima’s circuits, and she reminded herself of how much she didn’t care about Javelin’s opinion.

“You don’t want me here,” Javelin said finally, flatly. “You’d rather be alone.”

Proxima glanced at her. Javelin’s face revealed nothing, but a certain edge to her voice made Proxima uneasy. An unexpected needle of guilt pricked her. Her mouth twisted to the side. “I work better alone, is all,” she lied.

Javelin said nothing, and silence loomed overhead through the rest of their flight.

* * *

“ _Corvus_ to the _Vis Vitalis_. Do you read me?” As soon as the shuttle touched the ground, Proxima commed the larger vessel. Despite her single opic, Javelin had piloted the ship with ease; if Proxima hadn’t had such a processor-melting hatred for her, then she would be almost impressed. Almost. Javelin was good at everything, after all.

The communicator, built into the shuttle, simply buzzed with static. Mouth twisting to the side, Proxima tried it again. And again. No matter how much she attempted to connect to the Vis Vitalis, the connection never made it through. She wished Nautica were here— she had always been better with machines than Proxima had. Her expertise lay more in the realm of physics and chemistry and geology, not engineering and mechanics.

“What is it?” Javelin glanced toward Proxima. Her face was shadowed with concern.

“I can’t connect to the _‘Vitalis_ ,” Proxima said. She tapped the control console, but threw up her hands in the defeat. “I don’t know why it isn’t working. Acceleron told me that she’d tuned everything up just the last cycle.”

“Perhaps,” Javelin mused softly, “it has something to do with the waystation. An energy field, perhaps. Most stations have them.”

“I guess so. I wouldn’t know.”

“You never listened to Nautica talk about them?” she glanced at Proxima. The latter’s face flushed blue.

“Well, I mean, I’ve listened to Nautica talk. I’ve just never heard her talk about space stations in particular. Besides, that knowledge was never really pertinent until recently. No one went offworld.”

“Untrue. And, further, Caminus himself is technically a space station.” Javelin’s voice was calm, infuriatingly so. Proxima felt her pulse rise with every word.

“This… doesn’t matter. Let’s just find whatever the captain wanted us to find.” she stood up abruptly, walking out of the shuttle as quickly as she could. Immediately, upon walking onto the surface of the asteroid outside, Proxima realized that she had left any pertinent equipment on the shuttle.

Despite that amateur mistake, she was struck immediately by the ethereal beauty of the expanse before her. Proxima felt calm wash over her as she observed the veins of glowing pink and blue run through the rock below, and the twisting, almost primitive dome looming in the distance. She was reminded of early Camien architecture, and wished that she had her camera to capture the view. The place, too, hummed with energy— this must have been the pulse that Javelin mentioned. Proxima almost felt relieved with the prospect that she knew something more about this situation than Javelin did— if she knew anything, it was minerals and chemicals.

The mood was shattered when Proxima heard pedesteps making their way down the shuttle’s ramp. She scowled to herself as Javelin handed her the scanning equipment.

“We are looking for evidence that the Knights were here,” Javelin said.

“I know that,” Proxima snapped, even though she had not until this point.. 

“I was simply making sure. You tend to act rashly.”

“I do not.”

“Okay.” Javelin began to walk forward, easily descending down the uneven ridge with her built-for-flight body. Scowling, Proxima followed clumsily, nearly falling from a lack of balance several times. That silence, overbearing and exhausting loomed before them— the asteroid had the barest minimum of an atmosphere, to the extent that Proxima supposed that it was artificially made. These Knights, from how the captain had described them, surely had the resources to create something so simple. 

She wished that Javelin would just argue and yell. She wished that she wasn’t so matter-of-fact. She wished that Javelin didn’t walk with such confidence, as if the entire universe was laid out before her for her to examine and pick apart. 

“In here,” Javelin said, holding up her beeping scanner. She disappeared into one of the smaller domes before them, and Proxima had no choice but to follow.

Inside, the only lighting came from the natural glow of the mineral veins outside. Proxima blinked her darkvision on, peering around the space carefully. Nothing was here— nothing except patches of rust and a doorway, that is. 

“What did they even use this place for?” Proxima wondered out loud, stepping around a particularly fuzzy red patch. She could barely contain her disgust— she’d never been anywhere so decrepit in her life.

Javelin, with her characteristic silence, disappeared into the doorway. Proxima huffed in frustration and followed her, cursing her silent companion’s oppressive silence. She was probably stewing inside, wondering how she could ruin Proxima’s relationship with the rest of the crew back on the Vis Vitalis. 

But no, of course she couldn’t. Javelin never displayed anything resembling bitterness. If she had, it would be easier for Proxima to feel the way she did— for her to justify maintaining a grudge for so long.

Rounding the corner, Proxima almost ran right into the flightframe as she stopped dead. Javelin’s optic glowed red on the wall before her— there was some kind of flickering screen display there. She kneeled down, placing the scanner on the ground next to her.

“What are you doing?” Proxima asked, attempting to peer over Javelin’s shoulder.

“Look,” the latter said, pointing at the corner. Squished into the metal was a slightly vibrating, fleshy mass; glowing, veinlike tendrils seemed to weave in and out of its body, and liquid metal coated its outside as if it were some kind of sparkling. The six, alienlike optics staring at Proxima, however, were not those of a sparkling. They shone with hunger.

She shrieked, almost tripping over herself to get away from it. “Kill it!” Proxima cried out, narrowly dodging a rust patch on the wall. To her absolute horror, Javelin had picked the thing up and was now talking to it and cooing at it. So busy was Proxima, gawking at the absurdity of this whole thing, that she did not notice the pillar looming in front of her. She crashed into it, and fell face-up on the ground.

Javelin’s bemused expression crept into her vision before she even made full eye-contact with Proxima. She smiled, holding up the weird-looking blob. “It won’t hurt you,” she said, holding the monster in front of Proxima’s face.

“Javelin,” Proxima groaned, “please get that thing away from me before I justify murder to myself.” Once the creature was a safe distance away, she sat up, rubbing her aching neck-struts with one hand. The floor where she lay, oddly, shone like newly-forged metal. She pushed the strange fact to the side, however, as she glared at her companion. “We can’t get distracted by… disgusting slime balls. We have to focus on our mission, right? Finding proof that the Knights stopped here?”

“Oh, the buildings were proof enough,” Javelin said flippantly, patting one of the bulbous growths on the creature’s body. Bodies? Proxima never could tell with the things that Javelin studied. “We were just making sure that the radar wasn’t a fluke. Didn’t you listen to the briefing? I was following the techno-organic readings that I got on my scanner. And they were you, weren’t they, little one?” Javelin made a kissing noise at the blob. 

Proxima’s body temperature gradually rose as anger grew in her very core. “Are you kidding me?” she hissed. “You’re choosing now to talk, after wasting cycle after cycle of our time and energy, just—” She waved one hand in front of herself vaguely, “--wasting our time, my time. And don’t you dare get slime on me, on top of everything else you’ve done!” Her voice, rising in both pitch and volume as she spoke, echoed through the structure. Javelin stared at her, bewildered, and the slimy organism in her hands slipped to the ground.

The rusted metal, weak from vorns of disuse, began to vibrate. Proxima’s optics widened, and her sensors alerted her than debris was on its way down. She looked upward, where a chunk of rusted-out ceiling careened directly toward her. She offlined her optics in an instinct, though she knew very well that it would do nothing to lessen the blow. Everything seemed to slow down, and then— 

And then something shoved against her, away from the missile. Proxima fell to the floor as the other walls crashed down around she and Javelin, and the ancient lighting system around them flickered off.

Activating her optics and, by extension, her night vision, Proxima sat up as soon as the dust settled. Hands trembling, she pushed a jagged slab away from her face— or, at least, she tried to. She shoved and shoved, unable to find purchase against anything with her pedes. Her struts ached, and she gradually gave up. Proxima’s peripheral optics gave her a fuller idea of the space around her, and she made a clicking noise with her vocalizer; she had an echolocation sensor in addition to her other optics.

Something shuddered in her periphery, and Proxima tried to squirm from under the debris once more. “J-Javelin?” Proxima managed to wheeze out. “Javelin, are you okay?” The ensuing pause made Proxima’s spark spin with anxiety.

“I’m online,” Javelin replied flatly, quietly. She was on the other side of the room, as far as Proxima could tell, and one of her legs was pinned underneath a fallen wall.

“Javelin,” Proxima gasped, pushing weakly at the barrier keeping her from view. “Primus, I should have known. It’s a weak structure, and I know that these historic dome buildings are unstable as it is, and I— Primus, I’m an idiot, aren’t I? A fragging idiot. I went ahead and yelled at you anyway.” 

Another pause. “Are you expecting me to comfort you?”

“No.” Proxima’s fingers curled against the ground. “No, I’m not. Not sure what I expect now.”

“I suppose that we can expect to die here,” Javelin muttered.

Another pause. It was unbearable, and Proxima couldn’t stop her vocalizer from running— running though her body could not.

“Primus, and we haven’t even reached any peril yet. No enemy ships, no reality shifts, nothing. We’re going to die here because I apparently don’t know how to keep my emotions in check.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Yes. Right. I’m used to talking to Firestar about my feelings.” Proxima paused. “Though, in retrospect, I think I need someone better to do that with. Needed. Past tense.”

“I learned my lesson long ago,” Javelin said, “on choosing my words wisely around certain people.”

“I guess… that would explain your preference for the quiet, right?”

“No. I dislike silence immensely. I thought it was what you preferred, for you have always become agitated whenever I have made conversation. Or, rather, my attempt at it.”

Proxima’s visor stung, began to spark— no, don’t cry, you idiot— and she held onto the ground tightly. She wondered if she would ever perfect her energon-substitute formula, if she would ever see Velocity or Firestar or Nautica or Chromia or Acceleron or—

A small sob jerked her out of her thoughts. 

“Javelin?” Was she crying?

Another, uneven vent.

“I—” she bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

A soft, muffled, weeping began. From her echolocation, Proxima could tell that Javelin was covering her face, ashamed. She shook in place. As the vision faded, Proxima let her vents cycle slowly. An ache panged through her circuits, delved into the pits of her tanks. Reflecting on this, on everything—  
Science was all about being wrong. Proxima was used to it. She never thought, though, that this of all things would be her most fatal mistake.

“It’s not fair, is it?” she said, “The way I’ve treated you.” The sounds subsided. Javelin was listening. “And I don’t really have— any excuse. Nothing except jealousy, and that doesn’t really count for anything. It was never a valid excuse to dismiss you, not after the kindness you showed me.

“Remember the academy? Remember our Intermediary Photographic Techniques class? Among other things, that was the class where Firestar dyed her hands blue for a decacycle, so I’m assuming you do.” A soft, muffled giggle echoed from the other side of the room. Despite everything, Proxima felt the smallest, brightest sense of achievement. “Anyway. You were there to fulfill an elective. I was there to get a double-major, so everyone would get off my back about my interest in chemistry and physics. Photography was the best thing. I have enough optics for it, after all.

“Remember the final? That exhibition we had to create? I made mine about the energy crisis, and connected it to day-to-day excesses. I hoped it would impress the professor. But yours? You took pictures of struts and joints and hands and pedes— it was so intimate, choreographed so well.

“In the end, the class fawned so much over your photographs that they didn’t even bother with mine. And after it all, you just… threw them away. Like they meant nothing at all. Primus, Javelin, isn’t that idiotic? That I hated you so much for something so trivial as a photograph?” Proxima smiled wryly to herself. “You’re so intelligent, you know? And charming, in your own quiet way. While me? I’m just abrasive. I’m not trying to get your pity,” she added quickly. “I just— if we’re going to die here, I don’t— I don’t want to hold onto something like a bunch of photographs. From our academy days, no less!”   
Javelin’s vent cycles echoed from the other side of the chamber, more steady and calm. “You know,” she said softly. “I always thought you were intelligent. And I do not have a penchant for photography. Ink gets everywhere.”

“You’re bothered by ink? You spend all your time with creatures that secrete… less pleasant substances.”

“Ink stains. Techno-organic mucus does not.”

Proxima wheezed as she began to giggle, the pressure from the weight on top of her making the action painful. Despite that, she couldn’t seem to stop— her optics sparked, she laughed so hard. Her vision glitched. “Javelin, you— the slime does stain. Don’t you remember the— the laboratory? How one of your creatures… sprayed it everywhere? How angry I was?”

“Oh, certainly, I remember,” Javelin replied, a mischievous edge to her voice. “What if I told you that I had a specimen that excreted bright magenta?”

“Give it to Firestar, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, I’ve certainly felt the temptation. Her colors are garish enough as it is.”

Proxima let out one last gasp. “Stop, stop, I can’t laugh anymore. I’m being crushed to death; this isn’t fair, Javelin.”

“And miss out on hearing you laugh for one? I will not miss out on this, not if we are to die.”

Jawplate clenching, Proxima stared up at the dark ceiling. She did not want this to be the last scene of her life— she did not want this to be the only time she would be able to finally, finally have a real conversation with Javelin. Pushing down on the ground for leverage, Proxima made another strain— her arms quivered as she shoved against the debris on top of her. Systems straining and whining with effort, she pushed and pushed and pushed and finally— 

The rubble budged above her. Proxima’s mouth quirked to the side in determination, and she continued her efforts, ignoring Javelin’s questioning from far away. She had to get out— had to get Javelin out. 

Energon lines practically vibrating from the effort, Proxima finally shoved the slab of metal off of herself. Puffing from exhaustion, she turned her attention toward Javelin’s location, who stared at her.

“I was unaware that you had such physical strength,” she said, shifting her weight onto her other side.

“We’re going to try to get you out, too,” Proxima replied, stumbling her way over. Her vestibular systems still calibrating, she had to hold onto broken bits of metal for support. She knelt down next to Javelin, and surveyed the damage. The other mecha’s leg was almost completely crushed beneath the weight of the wall— Proxima had been lucky in that the angle of her own restraint had not crushed her spark chamber. 

“We will need to amputate it,” Javelin said flatly, echoing Proxima’s own thoughts. “There is no way around it.”

“Is there a way to do it— more cleanly?” Proxima inwardly shuddered at the thought of energon spraying everywhere.

“I do not think so. You will have to help me walk.”

Nodding curtly, Proxima grabbed onto Javelin’s arms and pulled, the latter pushing off the ground with her good leg for support. Eventually, with a sickening pop and crunch, Javelin’s leg came off. She couldn’t tell the specific hue in the darkness, but Proxima could feel the energon rapidly leaking from the stump. She grit her dentae and put her hand over the wound, attempting to stem the flow. Javelin was shaking against her, ventilation cycles uneven as she grabbed tightly onto Proxima’s shoulders.

In the meantime, Proxima surveyed the area as best she could. She could barely feel airflow in the distance, which, in her limited experience, pointed toward an exit. Hoisting Javelin up as best she could (she was lighter than expected), Proxima stumbled toward the source, careful not to jostle the ‘bot in her hands.

Eventually, a pinprick of glowing light met Proxima’s vision. It gradually grew brighter as she walked, and Javelin’s shaking began to subside as they walked closer to it. Loose rubble fell away as the two were met, finally, with a vision of the outside. The light emitting from the asteroid’s surface cast a blue glow on Javelin’s plating, smeared with energon from her injury. Proxima wasted no time, however much her struts ached from the weight. After several long, long kliks of walking, she reached their shuttle.

Placing Javelin gently on the floor, Proxima considered their options. The signal was likely still blocked, and she had no idea how to even fly a shuttle. She pondered this as she searched for their paltry first aid kit, and she eventually found it underneath the pilot’s chair. She unwrapped a roll of bandages, and set about wrapping Javelin’s wound.

Proxima let out a shriek as she turned around, inner protocols driving her to hop on a chair in flight. The slug from before stared at Proxima from the floor, some kind of flap pulsing as if with a sparkbeat. Javelin sat bolt-upright in alarm, shoulder plates relaxing as her optics met the small organism.

“Proxima, there is nothing to be afraid of,” she said, half-delirious from pain. 

Proxima climbed down from the chair, glaring at the slug as she did so. “Javelin,” she replied, “I’m throwing it out.”

“No, don’t, please!” Javelin attempted to drag herself toward the slug, limbs quivering with the effort. “This species is native to Cybertron, and almost extinct, and—”

“Okay, okay, we’ll keep it. For now. Because you’re injured, and I feel bad for you.” Proxima shot one last glare at the slug. Hopefully, the thing wouldn’t get in her way— or destroy any of the communications equipment in the shuttle.

* * *

Javelin had long drifted into recharge, and Proxima found herself missing the other mecha’s quiet voice. As she attempted to make sense of the machinery underneath of the control panel, a quiet humming began to fill her awareness. Mouth twitching to the side, Proxima glanced in the sound’s direction.

The slug, which had been a silent observer for kliks on end, was shuddering. The glowing spots on its back were vibrating, reminding Proxima of a generator or a motor. She barely fought off the temptation to chastise the creature before it let out a single high note, and the communicator on the control panel buzzed with interference.

Optics widening, Proxima stared at the tiny organism. It gave off energy— some sort of electromagnetic field, if Proxima’s sensors weren’t mistaken. Against her better judgment, she picked the tiny blob up and placed it on the console. The vibrations became even more intense, and the sound solidified into something more steady. Withholding her vent cycles, she pressed a button. 

“Corvus to Vis Vitalis,” she said.

A crackle. “Proxima? Javelin?” Thunderclash’s voice, urgent and unsteady crackled through the speaker. 

“Yes! Yes, sir, this is Proxima. We ran into some trouble on the asteroid, but we’re both alive— what are your coordinates?”

Thunderclash dictated the coordinates of the ship, which Proxima made a mental note of. “What in the world happened?” he demanded (politely). “I expect a full explanation— ah, report when you return.”

“Will do, Captain. Can you send Velocity to the landing bay to wait for us? Javelin’s injured.”

“Of course! Ah, Proxima— I’ll see you soon.” The communicator crackled off, though the slug continued its vibrations. 

Proxima glanced back at Javelin’s still form. She didn’t want to wake her, but at the same time, Proxima had never been the best at navigation. The irony of this fact, considering her frame’s design, was not at all lost on her. Despite that, she grit her dentae, glanced at the slug on the console, and made the decision. She’d be damned if Velocity would blame her for Javelin’s lack of healing.

* * *

The shuttle had been significantly worse for wear once it had arrived in the Vitalis’ landing bay. Proxima had watched anxiously as Velocity, accompanied by Road Rage, gently pulled Javelin from the shuttle. They assured her that she would be fine— it was only a simple limb replacement— but Proxima still felt the tiniest twinge of anxiety in her spark as she watched her be carried off down the hallway.

The next few cycles were filled by megaklik after megaklik in the laboratory— alone. Proxima would find herself unable to concentrate, unable to even revisit the work that she had begun before the trip. The glowing of the terrariums on Javelin’s side of the lab haunted her, and Proxima couldn’t figure out for the life of her what the slug from the asteroid ate— or any of Javelin’s other subjects, for that matter. 

(Proxima had named the slug Solus; it was probably sacrilege to do so, but Proxima had a feeling that the Prime wouldn’t have minded. The creature did have a sort of dignity to it, after all.)

Eventually, Proxima gave into her anxiety— and her need to talk to someone who understood her fascination with natural laws, with energy. Something was pricking at the edges of her processor, and she needed to relieve that weight. She made her way to the medbay, Solus resting in her palm. Upon entering, she was struck by a glare from Velocity that made her wince.

“You don’t have a checkup today, Proxima,” Velocity warned.

“I know,” Proxima replied, turning her gaze toward the medical berths. She smiled as she noted both Javelin’s new leg and the datapad in her hand. She walked over to her, placing Solus on the small table next to the berth. 

Javelin glanced up from her reading, her optic not burning into Proxima’s core as it once did. “Oh, hello. I did not think you’d see me.”

“I planned to. I simply didn’t think… you’d want to. It’s my fault that you lost a leg, after all.”

Laughing lightly, Javelin propped herself up on her elbows. “Well, you certainly had a part to play. I do not blame you, though— you had quite a bit of… baggage when it came to me.”

“Hardly any.” Proxima rolled her optics. “It was a photograph. Something rather stupid. And besides, I came here to ask you how to take care of your… creatures.”

Javelin raised her optic ridge. “Oh? I thought you disliked them.” Her gaze landed on Solus, suspiciously jubilant at the sight.

“I don’t like them, or the slime. I will say, however, that they can contain surprises.” Proxima pushed Solus away from the edge of the table so that they wouldn’t fall. “And further, I have developed a hypothesis that I think you will find interesting. I wanted your feedback before I showed my theory to the captain.”

Javelin’s optic brightened in interest. “Please, do share it with me.”

“So, here’s what I believe— I don’t think the Knights of Cybertron even used energon as a power source, nor did they use solar power or anything of the like. You see, Solus here exudes a similar type of energy signature as the energon substitute that I’ve been studying— they’re almost the same, in fact. You said that this species went extinct? I think it’s because the Knights took them, and culled the population to an unsustainable degree.” Proxima reset her vocalizer after she spoke, observing her addressee’s face.

Javelin stared at her, mouth halfway open. Then, suddenly, she broke into a grin, the like that Proxima had never seen before. It made energon rush to her face. “You named… the slug... ‘Solus’?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“No, no! I would be happy to further discuss this topic with you later, but the more pressing matter here is— you named the slug? And after a Prime of all things?”

Proxima scowled down at her. “I couldn’t think of anything else!”

“I name all of my techno-organic specimens, but I haven’t gone with that sort of name before. And, besides, I thought you didn’t even want the slug around?”

“Well—” Proxima glanced down at Solus, whose lights blinked up their body and back. “They helped me. The least I could do is give them a name. As soon as you can walk, you’re taking care of them, okay?”

“Deal.” Javelin scooted over on the berth, gesturing for Proxima to sit. “Tell me about that mineral you’ve been researching again— perhaps a greater understanding could help me in investigating this theory you’ve come up with?”

Hesitantly, Proxima sat on the berth, pulling out the datapad she pulled out for this specific purpose. Something made her spark jitter, though she was simply consulting with a colleague. “See this diagram? The crystalline structure of both energon and the substitute I’m developing produces an energy signature that…”

“...stimulates electromagnetic sensors, and…”

“...refuels the spark through…”

“...fundamentally molecular resonance…”

“...by reversing the polarity of…”

“What are you two even talking about?” Velocity asked, holding a cube of medical grade energon as she poked her helm around the corner.  
Proxima and Javelin exchanged a gleeful look. Proxima, for once in her life, couldn’t wait for Javelin to return to their shared space.

* * *

She missed Caminus, sometimes. Glancing at Javelin, though, whenever they spoke of their cycles at the Academy— Proxima realized that anything she felt paled in comparison to the hidden grief behind Javelin’s optic. She never asked what had been left behind, but Proxima couldn’t help but think of the experimental photographs developing in her habsuite.

She often looked at them after her shifts in the lab, wondering what Javelin’s favorite color was.

* * *

“So. You and Javelin, hmm?” Firestar grinned insufferably, in a way that mirrored the sickly-sweet engex on her breath. Proxima huffed indignantly, pushing her friend’s hand away from her shoulder. 

“She is a lab partner that I have recently reconciled with, and nothing more.” Proxima filled her cube up with the stronger, less flavored stuff— the kind that burned the intake and sharpened the mind. “None of your concern, Firestar.”

“C’mon. Just two decacycles ago you were complaining about her, and now no one can get you apart from each other for a second. I know there’s something there. I have experience.” she sang the last sentence, taking a swig of the engex bottle after she did so. Her flame shifted to a rosy hue, as it did when Firestar had a bit too much to drink at once.

“I’m catching up!” Proxima retorted. “And what experience are you even talking about? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you date anyone— except that two cycle stint back at the Academy with Nautica.”

“I told you to never speak of those days. And, plus— romance vids are experience. You can learn very valuable lessons from them.”

“Who said anything about romance? I just want to know the mecha’s favorite color.”

“You’re the one that brought up dating, dummy!” Firestar poked Proxima’s nose with a long, sharp digit. Scowling, the latter pushed her hand away.

“Okay, fine, I did. But this isn’t anything like that. We’re simply colleagues. Friends, even.” 

“Mmm, and friends certainly give friends gifts that have a major amount of sentimental value and care put into them.”

“Yes!” Proxima threw up her hands in frustration. Firestar had always been insufferable when overcharged. “Now, her favorite color?”

“I don’t know, Proxi!” Firestar burst into hysterical laughter at the nickname, while Proxima only shoved her to the floor in exasperation.

* * *

“That was a quick transition,” Velocity said dryly, turning from the shelves of bandages and metal patches. A datapad was in her hand, with what Proxima assumed to be inventory. “You sure this isn’t some sort of scheme to try to poison Javelin somehow? It was only two decacyles ago that you would have done just that.”

“Near-death experiences,” Proxima replied, arms crossed, “are enough to make you realize that some grudges are not worth keeping. Please answer my question, Lotty. It’s important.”

Velocity sighed, placing the datapad on a nearby examination table. “I mean, we haven’t exactly talked a whole lot. Javelin never spoke extensively to anyone, except, perhaps, Chromia and Nautica. Now, she mostly speaks to you, about… whatever the both of you talk about.”

“Right now,” Proxima said primly, “we are researching a type of energy secreted by the Praxian Space Slug.”

Velocity made a face. “Right. Anyway, I don’t know her favorite color. Try asking her, perhaps?”

“This needs to be a secret. Thank you, anyway.”

* * *

“Her favorite color?” Thunderclash’s optics brightened, and Proxima knew that this had been a mistake. “So, you’re friends now? I knew you had it in you—”

Before he could begin a speech, Proxima burst out an excuse about the lab being on fire and left his quarters. She wondered why she even thought that Thunders would know, anyway.

* * *

Proxima hoped that she was correct in assuming that Javelin liked green. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if Javelin even could see green— colorblindness was rather common in mecha with singular optics, after all. 

In her anxiety, she never was able to build up the courage to directly give the newly-developed photograph to Javelin. She wondered if she was trying too hard, if she was overcompensating for those vorns of poor treatment. The very thought made her tanks churn, that this wouldn’t be seen as genuine. Was Proxima being genuine? 

She asked herself this question as she stood outside of Javelin’s hab, thinly-cut metal in hand. Proxima bit her lip as she glanced down at it— she smeared the ink a little bit on the side in her haste, but overall the overlay of Caminus over its dimly-glowing sun still looked dreamy. It was just how Proxima intended it— but the uncertainty was still there. This was simply a reciprocation of the flower Javelin had given her— nothing more. 

Proxima let her vents cycle once more before gently sliding the photograph underneath of Javelin’s door. She heard it slide open as she walked away.

* * *

“Proxima,” Javelin said politely, glancing over while her arms were elbow-deep in an especially deep techno-organic tank. Proxima froze, glancing up from her diagrams and calculations and coming face-to-face with an optic that had elicited such weird and radical and unknowable feelings in her spark. She cleared her vocalizer, standing upright and almost knocking Solus off of the table in her haste.

“You startled me,” she chided— a feigned, useless endeavor, for both Proxima and Javelin knew she meant nothing by it. 

“I have been meaning to ask you— did you often listen to music, back on Caminus? Non-mandatory music, I mean.”

Proxima looked at her hands. “I mean. I did occasionally, but it certainly wasn’t refined or up to the standards of our professors.”

Javelin chuckled, pulling her hands out of the tank. They were covered in slime of a metallic hue. She wiped them on a cloth next to her. “Well, I never asked about the standards. Simply about the music.” Her optic glazed over dreamily as she gently placed a small, tentacled creature back into the tank. Proxima wondered how she hadn’t broken one of them yet, for the techno-organics appeared so delicate. “I think I miss Caminus’ sounds the most. There was always music playing, and some of it was worth dancing to.”

“Dancing?”

“Yes. That was my intended major at the Academy for a very, very long time.” Javelin smiled softly. “Firestar and I were dance partners for a time— a very short time. She is a rather demanding mecha.”

“Don’t I know. She and I were roommates for awhile. I care about her— she’s my friend, after all— but she can be rather… abrasive. I was surprised when she and Nautica became amica, though I suppose poor Nauty didn’t really get a choice.” Proxima smiled at the soft flow of memories streaming through her processor— not all of them were pleasant, but all were overlaid with a hazy filter of nostalgia. “She has a good spark, under all that bravado. I think she genuinely cares about people.”

“Everyone cares about someone,” Javelin replied, glancing at Proxima for just a klik too long for it to be unintentional. “Thunderclash cares about everyone.”

“Thunderclash is a rare spark,” Proxima laughed. “He would move the unmovable if it meant making someone happy.”

“Indeed. Just as you did, back at the waystation.”

“That was more about survival, and less about happiness.”

“I should think that surviving does equivocate, in some way, to happiness. You have to be alive to be happy.”

Proxima couldn’t help but snicker, a small smirk quirking her mouth to the side. She felt Javelin’s optic on her, watching carefully— but she couldn’t bring herself to mind all that much. “Back to the original subject— what music did you listen to?”

“Everything,” Javelin said. “Everything I could listen to. Fast, slow, angry, romantic— all songs resonated with me. I haven’t brought myself to listen to any for a time, until recently.”

“What spurred you to change that?”

“Changes,” Javelin said simply, unblinkingly. 

“I suppose things have changed in this lab in the past few decacycles. Your leg in particular.”

“This leg had never even been in the lab before now!” 

Proxima smiled, pushing Solus away from the edge of the table. “Your new leg hasn’t even been on Caminus before, or danced to its music.”

A pause. Javelin glanced at her leg, at the tank, at Solus— everywhere but Proxima. “Would you like to change that?”

“Pardon?” Proxima wasn’t sure if she heard her correctly.

“Change its experience, help break it in? Make my leg ‘feel the music’, as it were?” When Proxima still looked at her in confusion, Javelin huffed. “I’m asking you to dance with me.”

“What— right here? Right now?” 

“Yes.” She stood up, endlessly more elegant with her finials and slender frame. Proxima wondered how she had never noticed it before. Javelin held out a gentle hand. “You needn’t do anything but follow my lead.”

“I suppose,” Proxima said, after a moment’s hesitation, “I am in the headspace for new things.” She took Javelin’s hand, and was immediately pulled to her pedes. A ping rang in Proxima’s head, and upon opening it music immediately began to play. She looked at Javelin questioningly— the song echoing through her processor was an ancient Camien ballad, delicate and precise.

“I thought,” Javelin said, suddenly ducking her helm. “I thought it suited you. The timbre is simple, yet elegant and intelligent.”

“A rather roundabout way to give someone a compliment, don’t you think?” Proxima said, her vocalizer clicking. And, with that, she was swirled away from the table, spun by Javelin’s sure and deceptively slender arms. She stumbled, feeling gangly and awkward in comparison to the angular, elegant flight-frame simultaneously holding her hand and her shoulder plate. After a few moments, though, her insecurities were melted away, emotions defrosted as Javelin’s gentle optic met her gaze. Proxima’s sparkbeat fluttered as she was moved in every direction to the beat, moving faster and faster as the ballad grew to a final crescendo. Suddenly, she was dipped downward, and every one of her optics flickered off briefly as she bit back a shriek. Her vision turned back on, and Proxima became immediately aware that Javelin’s breath was brushing her face. 

Her lab partner’s mouth was parted, her optic staring and deep and Proxima’s energon lines were likely about to burst with how quickly they were circulating. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Javelin’s lips, and she wondered briefly if they were as warm as her hands were. Was that just Proxima’s sensors malfunctioning from how close they were? 

She was jerked out of her pondering as her lips brushed against Javelin’s, and she promptly hit the floor as she was dropped. Proxima winced, rubbing her head.

“I’m sorry!” Javelin said quickly, holding out a hand. “That was just… unexpected. Are you alright?”

Proxima took her hand. “Yes, I’m okay. It was rather unexpected for me as well.”

Javelin pulled her to her pedes. “Is it common practice for you to kiss those you’ve cultivated a rivalry with?” she teased.

Proxima scowled. “Please. That was hardly a kiss,” she said, attempting to cover up her flushed plating. “That was a test— a hypothesis, as it were.”

“Well, then,” Javelin smiled. “Would you care to show me the real thing?”

Proxima obliged her; the two found, after numerous tests, that the results were inconclusive. Both agreed that further experiments would have to be put in place in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> *Claps hands* It's finally done!!! This is so long.... but I really wanted to tackle the challenge of writing a rarepair, especially one that doesn't even have a tag. These two are a blessed ship even with the lack of content, so I really hope I did them justice. There was a lot of my own interpretation that was implemented here, but I really hope it's worth the read. 
> 
> I wanted to experiment with enemies to friends to lovers, because I wanted to write some drama/angst - but nothing too serious because I am stressed lol. Hopefully I do the dynamic justice, and hopefully the pacing isn't too weird! I wanted to show Proxima and Javelin's relationship growth through different angles, including the viewpoints of other characters.
> 
> One last thing: this fic is, as you can see, gifted to notwhelmedyet, one of my all time favorite fanfic writers. I was ecstatic upon receiving your fic prompts, and I hope I fulfilled any expectations that you had! I wanted to give you something nice to read while you destroy your readers with good prose and characterization. I absolutely adore your work, and you deserve a gift that is above and beyond what I could give - I hope that you enjoy this romp anyway!


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